


A New Age Dawning

by Andúniel (Anduniela)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Worldbuilding: Cultural differences among elves - Freeform, Worldbuilding: Customs and Rites at Cuiviénen - Freeform, Worldbuilding: Elven Politics of the Second Age - Freeform, Worldbuilding: Fealty/loyalty (Silm) - Freeform, Worldbuilding: Lindon - Freeform, though it's only mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-07 17:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduniela/pseuds/And%C3%BAniel
Summary: An untimely visitor leads to a surprising discussion, and Gil-galad and Elrond try to rebuild their lives in the early Second Age.





	A New Age Dawning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drag0nst0rm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/gifts).

> This story is for Drag0nst0rm: I did my best to squeeze as many of your likes as I could into a hopefully interesting and enjoyable story.
> 
> ***
> 
> The characters should be assumed to speak Sindarin throughout, however, for clarity’s sake the names of ethnicities are given in their most recognizable Quenya forms.

Barely had he divested himself of the outer layers of the royal robes, when a knock came at his door and he was informed that Elrond was seeking audience. Gil-galad raised his eyebrows in surprise, for they had spoken but a short while ago – he was actually in the process of changing after a council session – but nodded his consent. 

Elrond entered, still clothed the way he had been at the council, and gave an elaborate bow after the Noldorin fashion of old.

Gil-galad sighed inwardly. Those archaic, overly formal manners made this youngest addition to his court seem out of place somehow. But he could hardly blame Elrond himself, who had been, after all, taught etiquette by their late unlamented cousins.

Regardless, those habits would have to go. Now that all the survivors of Beleriand who had refused to abandon Middle-earth were gathered into only one kingdom, Gil-galad was striving to introduce an amalgam of customs that would be palatable to all the subjects of Lindon, be they Noldor, Sindar, or Nandor. His main source of inspiration, for the spirit, if not for the letter, was the court of Nargothrond, with its strong Sindarin influences intertwined with Noldorin customs from beyond the Sea, rather than the hieratic Quenya-speaking Gondolin, a deliberate emulation of Tirion. 

Gil-galad blinked away his musings and gestured for Elrond, who had been – correctly, he knew from the lessons he had been given at Uncle’s order – waiting for his permission, to rise and speak. 

“My lord King, might I have the privilege of a _private_ audience?”

Curious, Gil-galad dismissed his attendants with a flick of his hand and a short “Thank you”, then, having poured himself a drink, nestled into a cushioned oriel window seat, indicating Elrond should copy suit.

But his cousin remained standing, tense, his hands folded behind his back, his head slightly bowed, as if they were still at court. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” Gil-galad gestured with his goblet to the pitcher of iced juice, his own discarded jewelry on the table, and finally, the cushioned seat opposite him, “Then come sit with me. Your secret is safe, there is nobody here but us.”

Hearing this Elrond abandoned his studied pose and obeyed, but remained silent, chewing at his lip and stroking the rim of his goblet with one restless finger, a slight crease between his eyebrows. Gil-galad did not press and indeed before the silence could drag awkwardly, Elrond looked him straight in the eye. "My lord, I do not think you should press the wandering Sindar to pay as much for the construction of the cities as the Noldor, who dwell in them,” blurted he.

"No? But you have agreed with me but an hour ago,” said Gil-galad mildly, all the more curious. 

Upon that Elrond’s discomfiture grew visibly, but he continued, "My lord, such is my advice, if you would have it.”

“I would, and gladly. I just do not understand, why pretend earlier? I hope I make it clear that while I may not always agree, I will never punish someone for voicing their opinion.”

Now Elrond appeared even more unhappy, and Gil-galad thought he had been perhaps not inviting enough towards this young and strange cousin, though he seemed to sense a genuine devotion and even first strands of friendship beneath the rigid formality.

“You do, but you cannot afford me to question your judgment, especially not in this.”

Gil-galad felt his stomach churn and had to suppress a shiver despite the warm sunshine. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You are reticent perhaps, but not shy, and not prone to flights of fancy. There is more to this than mere etiquette, is there not?”

Elrond hunched in his seat and nodded jerkily, a miserable look on his face. “I am part Sinda–”

“So am I.”

“But I am a descendant in the direct line of King Thingol, for whom they forsook the Great Journey, and a spitting image of Lúthien the Beloved,” Elrond gave him a tired, mocking smile. “The only available one, for all my faults,” he added in Quenya. 

_Oh. _“Is this way you insist on keeping Noldorin customs?”

Another shaky nod.

“But some would argue you are ahead of me in the Noldorin succession as well.” 

“No, no, they are wrong! A king needs to be a warrior, a protector of his people, so the male line comes first, it has been this way since Cuiviénen. And besides, you are older and Maedhros has set a precedence when he–”

“WHO is wrong, Elrond?” He cut across the frantic recitation of inheritance rules, which Elrond obviously must have researched in depth. He started to suspect this interest was neither purely academic nor as sinister as some would have him believe.

“Ferior and Candis, and Gaelon… and, if I am to believe them, a good deal of people who used to live in the Havens,” admitted Elrond unhappily, his head bowed. 

Gil-galad drew in a sharp breath. Gaelon, the Sinda who had asked Elrond’s opinion on the new taxes during the council, Candis, a Noldë of Gondolin who had been a vocal critic of Gil-galad's policy of encouraging a further mingling of customs, and Ferior, who had been whispering into his ears the insinuations regarding Elrond's interest in inheritance and history. 

“But I do not believe this to be true – there is too much of a Kinslayer in me after all.”

Gil-galad looked at him in wonder. Oh, he was clever, far cleverer than any, himself included, would give him credit. In choosing – and in that moment Gil-galad understood that it was indeed a conscious choice – to present himself as heavily influenced by the years of his captivity, Elrond was alienating the survivors of Gondolin and dividing the already few Fëanorian loyalists, making them choose between their lords’ blood who had denounced the kinship and a man of other descent but suitable sympathies.

At the same time he felt a sudden surge of affection for this young man, who might have become the greatest threat to Gil-galad’s position, perhaps his very life, but instead had chosen to use everything, including what surely was a festering wound – the strange, incomprehensible relationship with the sons of Fëanor – to thwart any such attempts. Next time he would have to deal with Elrond refusing to sit or eat until expressly permitted he would take it for what it was meant: a shield, a fence around them both. A sign of love, not distance. 

He saw all the rumors and whispers that Elrond had been irrevocably tainted by the Kinslayers in a new light, and the thought of Elrond lonesomely bearing insults and insinuations, and resisting pressure for such a long time, all for the sake of peace and the safety of Gil-galad’s crown was well-nigh unbearable. His heart brimming, Gil-galad stretched his hand and placed it over Elrond’s. “Would that you have told me earlier.”

Elrond’s fingers twitched beneath his touch. “They are not bad people, it is just that we are all rebuilding our lives, and–”

“I did not mean it this way.” Was there no end to his cousin’s kindheartedness? “I will keep a close eye on them now that I know, though how can I blame them for wanting their rightful lord?” He stopped and looked Elrond straight in the eye. “But what I meant is that you do not have to be alone in this.” And Gil-galad threw his mind wide open, the way he had not done since the deaths of Father and Finduilas with anyone, not even Círdan. 

He was rewarded with a surprise in Elrond's eyes, quickly fading, replaced by happiness and a great, immeasurable relief, the hand relaxing on the goblet’s rim. 

Gil-galad squeezed it one more time, then took a long drink of the already warmed juice and settled back into the cushions. “Now tell me in detail, why do you think I should make an exception for the Sindar?” 

And thus began a custom, born out of a sad necessity, that did not end even after Celeborn and Galadriel led the dissatisfied over the Ered Lindon almost five centuries[i] later. 

metta

NOTES

[i] Apparently we do not know the Sindarin equivalent of the q. _yén_, long year, 144 solar years; so I felt obliged to simply use the English word. Galadriel and Celeborn moved to Eregion in S.A. 700.

**Author's Note:**

> When analyzing the genealogy of the kings of the Noldor I cannot help but notice a preference for male or even male-line descendants. The out-of-universe explanation is of course that JRRT simply copied the real-world customs.  
The full in-universe explanation that I came up with for this fic is as follows: a king protects the people from the threat of violence (this can be extrapolated from Maedhros’s speech against Thingol in The Silm. “Of the Return of the Noldor”), therefore needs to be the best possible warrior. And that, especially early on, statistically means a man, since we are told childbirth physically weakens elven women and it can be reasonably assumed that in the dangerous times at Cuiviénen most women would need to bear children, and quickly, simply to replace those who were lost. That would be especially true of the ruling family, whose continued existence would be essential to the relative well-being and safety of the whole people.  
(I am of the mind that Ingwë, Finwë, Olwë & Elwë were not of the Unbegotten and were not the original rulers, but instead were either the young adventurous volunteers or were chosen by Oromë for ReasonsTM).
> 
> Thanks go to realelvish.net for providing names for my nasty OCs, and to eldamo.org for enabling my very frustrating delve into Sindarin ;P
> 
> And should you find any problem with my English, be it grammar, spelling, word-choice, whatever, please tell me: I'd rather be embarrassed for a moment and learn, than make the mistake again.


End file.
